


Money Is What Keeps Us Alive

by Eve6262



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Gravity Falls, Persona 3, Rick and Morty, リズム怪盗R | Rhythm Thief & the Emperor’s Treasure
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gravity Rises, Angst, F/F, F/M, M/M, THERE IS RAPE BUT IT'S ONE CHAPTER SO I DON'T WANT TO PUT A WARNING TO WARD OFF PEOPLE OR SUCH, commissions open, do not blame me for anything in this book, it was all commissions/requests, knife play without consent, no sex tho, okay maybe blame me for going a bit dark with some basic prompts, to be added tags, underage love, well it's one chapter right now, yeah nvmd you can blame me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-27
Updated: 2017-07-16
Packaged: 2018-09-27 04:49:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 16,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9966605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eve6262/pseuds/Eve6262
Summary: A book of the different commissions I get. It will probably be centered around Danganronpa, but other fandoms may be present.





	1. I Killed You, But Now I Miss You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Junko misses him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For : Pegasister60

    Blood-splattered walls stared back at Junko as she walked, the sound of her high heels against blood the only sounds to be heard. Eyes filled with fear stared back at her in horror, but she didn’t care. There was an extremely specific body, or part if it came to that, she was looking for. A specific person that meant a bit more than they should have; a specific influence in her life that went the wrong way.

    Shaggy brown hair with that familiar ahoge stared back at her, taunting her, willing her to come over and see both her demise and her crown. Her footsteps slowed but did not stop as she turned to face it, coming closer and closer. A gloved hand caressed its cheek, while widened eyes looked as though a sense of dread had finally overcome them.

Junko kneeled in front of the severed head, the ragged half of a neck seeming to judge her for everything she’d ever done. The eyes that stared back at her seemed to hold her in contempt; the hand of her partial rival held the severity of a knight of pure light holding a shield of purity. Without a second thought, Junko discarded the purple-gloved hand.

    “Makoto...” Her hands cupped the pale, yet warm skin of the once living Makoto Naegi’s head, acting as though he were still alive. A sad smile formed on her face as blue eyes looked fondly at the head. “You didn’t hate me, right?” A tear formed in her eyes, dripping down the side of her cheek. The single, salty tear, clouded with makeup measured by the pound on the fashionista’s face fell to the ground, as though her entire feelings had been collectively summarized into a single drop of liquid.

    “You didn’t hate anyone, even the murderers. So, you don’t hate me, right?” Junko hugged the head tight to her chest, almost in an effort to warm it once again. The skin felt as though it rotted faster in her warm embrace, but she didn’t care. “You would never hate me, right? Even after all this, and after everything that happened...You don’t hate me. You can’t.’

 

\--

 

     “W-R-O-N-G! Wrong! I dunno how you LOSERS couldn’t even get THIS right, but ya’ fuckin’ did!” A shocked class looked at her with fear in their eyes. Kyoko spoke with ferverentness, but also a hint of despair. “That’s impossible. You have to be playing as your sister.” Junko shoved the pair of glasses onto her face and gave a polite smile. “Oh? Why couldn’t she play me instead?”

     This had everyone taken aback. “Wh-What?! Togami-chii, we’re gonna die!” Hagakure clung to the heir, who simply clicked his tongue. “Tch. Get off of me, peasant. She can’t execute us, it’s against the rules.” The fashionista only giggled, giving way to the fear in his eyes. “Oh? But it’s in the rulebook, right, Togami-kun?” Her cutesy smile fooled no one, except perhaps herself.

     “Anyways, TO THE CUTSCENE!” Everyone was dragged off by the Monokumas, their struggling music to Junko’s ears.

The screen popped to life, and Junko leaned on the podium as she watched them get executed. An entire class, strapped to chairs in a circle. How despairfully hopeless, especially with the math questions going around. A multiple choice test, and one for the whole class. The catch? They had to get every. Single. Question. Right.

     Makoto got it right on chance; Kyoko, Byakuya, and Toko were guaranteed a right answer. Hagakure guessed wrong. On perfect cue, everyone glared at him; on perfect cue, they all watched in horror as a saw blade cut first his neck, then his limbs, all on a randomly generated pattern. Toko was next; it kept going in order from last to first.

     Kyoko managed to free a single hand; it was too late, however, and just before she was killed a single hand went to Makoto’s cheek. “Don’t worry about it...” Her eyes flew open in one last act of surprise as the pain of a spinning sawblade did not first execute her, but stab her in her chest. Junko knew from personal experience that was bound to hurt.

     Makoto died with relatively less wounds than everyone else. Junko couldn’t stand to see her little crush torn to too many pieces, after all.

 

\--

 

    “I’m sure you don’t hate me...” The sad smile she’d held turned to a happy one; her eyes almost looked like the swirls of despair would invade them, were she not in a constant state of the feeling. “You don’t hate me. You love me, in fact! You love me for my flaws! I just know it!” Tears of sanity riddled with makeup rolled down her cheeks, although whether she noticed anything but her ruined makeup much later could be debated.

    “You...You love me...And I love you...You’re so hopeful...But so...Unpredictable...Haa!” Junko had gone from holding the head to dropping it to the ground and holding herself, the ecstasy she got from just thinking about her favorite crush too much to handle. Her eyes were filled with tears, both of pain and happiness; both of depression and haughtiness.

    The strawberry blonde collapsed onto the ground, her eyes half closed from the rush of emotions flooding her heart. Without thinking, she pulled the decapitated head closer. Blood sounded like noisy syrup and felt like a sea of cold water against her skin, the maroon liquid bleeding into her clothes. She cuddled the head, closing the eyes before she did.

    “We’ll be together forever, and ever, and ever, right?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More info on my tumblr: http://eve6262.tumblr.com/


	2. Flash Drives Save Lives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This title sounds like a damn company  
> But no seriously
> 
> Flash Drives Save Lives TM
> 
> That looks so normal I would totally believe that
> 
> Oh yeah in this one Junk and Egg meet in the simulation  
> Fun times proceed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For : Pegasister60

    Pixels gathered in front of his eyes, confusing his brain for a moment. Even if he knew it was a simulation, and nothing here was real, defined as corporeal, his brain was always confused by the sensation of reality the program gave off. Still, it was strange to have the pixels clearing, seeing as Junko hadn’t let them in and didn’t seem to plan to.

    “Makoto~! Is that you?” A smiling figure with distinct twin ponytails approached him. Makoto did his best to keep a straight face. “Enoshima.” The girl pouted as her usual appearance loaded into view. “Aw, come on! You could be a LITTLE nicer! I did keep you alive~!” The brunette stilled himself before responding.

    “Let us in.” The cutesy personality of the fake strawberry blonde’s showed itself, approaching Makoto in record time. He jumped back as she spoke, surprised by her invasive nature still. “Ne, ne! Makoto-kun, are you blaming an adorable girl like me? You aren’t, right?” The brunette pursed his lips to still himself.

    He wanted, he truly wanted to tell Junko that he wasn’t blaming her, that he never blamed her for the entire incident. He was the only one deemed mentally stable enough to read her files, and even then he couldn’t find all of them. Abandoned by her only family at the beginning of her life, even Mukuro had no choice but to leave her sister.

    Her story was pitiful, if not tragic. Her entire life she’d used her talents to get to the top of the popularity charts, all to find her sister. Time after time she’d find despair waiting at every corner; time after time numbed her to the feeling of despair, and like a captive held for much too long, she developed a type of Stockholm Syndrome towards it. Mukuro had done the same, and so went the story of the Tragedy.

    Future Foundation had a script one had to say, and he would follow that script for as long as he could.

    “Let us in. I won’t ask you again.” To his surprise, the accountant personality showed up. According to Miaya, when he said this the depressed personality should have reprimanded him for not taking her feelings into account, but here was a completely different story.

    “According to my data, Makoto, that is not what you meant to say.” A moment of panic flooded through him. He’d remembered the script to the exact word, this he was sure of. Could it have been that he missed an entire line, or a misprint from the computerized version? More than that, how did Junko know there was a script?

    “You meant to say…”I don’t blame you.” My, how sappy.” The older, almost seductive voice was both comforting and alarming in its words. Thankfully, he had not derailed from the script; he had forgotten, however, that Junko now had access to the readings of all his feelings as long as he was in the program.

    His thoughts were interrupted by the strawberry blonde, once again. “Geez, you big meanie! You shouldn’t taunt a girl like that!” She looked at him with what could only be described as a stereotypical blonde girl look of annoyance, a blush evident on her face. She giggled at the slight blush that formed on the brunette’s face.

    “Aww! Makoto likes me! Makoto likes me!” The fashionista’s actions almost reminded him of Ibuki, but still he stayed calm. “I asked-” Junko, apparently one for conversation, cut him off. “Oh, come on! Just fuckin’ stop with the act already! We both know that’s a shitty little script, so just let it go!”

    At this point, Makoto wasn’t even surprised. She’d probably read his thoughts and found out about the script that way, rather than finding the script within the digging she did for the virtual Killing Game. He sighed. “Fine. But you still have to release...everyone.” Junko looked at him with a bland look before snapping her fingers, nearly scaring him witless.

    “I know! If the rest of the survivors of the 78th class, that can make it, can convince everyone currently alive in the 77th class’s simulation to hard reset the program, I’ll allow them to keep their memories...on one condition.” Makoto had anticipated this; nothing Junko ever did came without a punchline, and they weren’t all jokes.

    “You-” Junko poked him in the chest, a self-confident smirk on her face and a crown on her head, “-have to put me in a flash drive.”

    The brunette’s eyes widened, this being the one thing he hadn’t expected. He blurted his thoughts out without thinking, earning a small laugh from the strawberry blonde in front of him. “You’re still not giving up, even if hope wins again? That’s impossible, I can’t do that!”

    Finally, the depressed personality showed itself, seemingly from the depths of either heaven or hell, whichever Makoto thought he wasn’t in right then. “I guess even Makoto hates me...What a pitiful existence...I only wanted a friend…” Makoto pursed his lips, thinking about what the fashionista said.

    “I...I suppose…” She looked up to him, fake mushrooms falling off her head, beady eyes looking with hope. “I suppose if you promise not to mess with anything, and I’m the only one you talk to…” The old him would have doubted these words to ever leave his mouth; now, it seemed natural.

    “Then I’ll make sure you have a second chance, even if I'm the only one who will give it to you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more info: http://eve6262.tumblr.com/


	3. A Date: Relationship Study Edition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Junko and Makoto go for a date.
> 
> (this kinda ended up a character study of their relationship if that makes sense haha)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fandom : DR  
> Ship : Makoto/Junko  
> Commissioned by: Pegasister60

    Makoto was utterly confused. No longer surprised, never annoyed. Just...confused.

  
    A large metal door stood tall in front of him, the bolts on the sides securing the metal in place. A large plate stared him in the face, with the words “Makoto & Junko”  Behind him stood three people- Byakuya, Aoi, and Hagakure, each with their own opinions and, as a result, their own speeches to give. Aoi said it was a trap, Hagakure was concerned with the fact that Junko was back, while Byakuya was wondering how all this happened without Future Foundation knowing.

  
    Knowing it was the best and worst outcome all in one, Makoto pushed open the door and, without looking back at his surprised and worried, albeit annoying, friends, walked forward, even when the door closed behind him. The room was not yet lit, however, a quiet click turned on the synthetic lighting of a chandelier, complete with dazzling crystals that gave the room a regal vibe; not that the rich maroon carpet and golden accents on everything didn’t already take that job.

  
    At the fancily decorated table in the center was a waving figure. Her body seemed normal, right up until a television screen that formed her head. Pigtails were still held with two Monokuma-styled holders, and the screen that held her smiling face seemed almost surreal, were it not for the black outlines and the slightly lowered image quality.

  
    “Makoto! Hi!” Her overjoyed smile would have made the brown-haired boy want to smile; instead, he questioned her. “Junko...What the fuck.” It was barely a question, and more of a probing statement; still, Junko gave her roundabout way of answering. “Sit first, then talk!” Rolling his eyes, the unlucky boy sat in the opposing chair to her. Her smile grew immensely, even though she must have already predicted this.

  
    “Explanation?” Smiling mischievously, Junko gave her best impression of a fox, which was uncannily perfect for a human being. Somewhere in the background, Makoto could hear what seemed to be other robots whirring. “I made a place for us to go, since everywhere else’s so grey and dull!” It was true; this place could be called anything but boring, along with Junko herself. Somehow, his confusion finally turned into a small bit of guilt, or perhaps anxiety, at the fact he’d worn the dull black suit of Future Foundation’s dress code.

  
    Junko, for one, looked like she belonged. A regal looking cape covered her shoulders, although only slightly, complete with black-flecked white fur on the sides and velvety red on the inside. A dress clearly made with the wearer’s measurements in mind much less than modestly covered her body down to her shoes, which were a pair of high heeled boots a deep maroon. The screen seemed the only off-putting thing, but even that had been painted with a blood red background and golden details fit for a queen. Here, she was, in a sense.

  
    “Date?” As though wondering if he’d understood what she said, or perhaps inviting him into the date he’d dragged himself into, Junko smiled and waited for a response. “Sure.” He hoped he was right on thinking it was the second, and it turned out he was correct when the Junko on the screen jumped for joy. “Yay! Let’s get started, then!” Clapping the synthetic but realistic skin of her hands together, the robots Makoto previously thought he’d heard popped out of two doorways bearing food.

  
    Two plates for the both of them, each laden with the same thing were placed in front of them; the meal consisted of a stead that would make a gourmet’s mouth water just thinking about it, its proper seasonings, and a beautifully aged red wine, complete with tinted glasses and engraved cutlery. The royal atmosphere of this synthetic space still made Makoto somewhat uncomfortable; realizing this, Junko laid the screen down on her hand as though it was her head.

  
    “Hm? Oh, relax! I just thought I’d cook up something nice for our meal~!” It was half a song, but Makoto took it seriously, as was intended. He cut a small piece of the steak and let it practically melt in his mouth, the juices from the meat mingling with the spices and slight oil to create what anyone, including himself, would describe as a purely heavenly taste. Already having touched her food, somehow, Junko started to speak.

  
    “So, how’re you?” Makoto considered just saying he was fine, but knew that the fashionista would probe deeper until she could get the truth out of him, and resolved to treating this like a therapy session in which he actually told the truth. “Tired.”  The face on screen was cuter than it should have been; somewhat thirsty before the meal in the first place, the brunette took a sip of wine as he listened to her speak. “That makes sense. Everyone at Future Foundation can be such a pain sometimes.”

  
    “Well, it’s not really them.” Seemingly surprised, Junko looked to him as he spoke. “It’s more like, they expect a lot out of me. And while I do those things in return, there’s not a lot of appreciation for it, and I just get expected to do greater and greater things, and it all slowly builds up more and more until it’s kind of...suffocating.” He looked back to Junko, having been staring at the ceiling in thought. “I guess what I’m trying to say is, I’m not tired of them. I’m tired of being me.”

  
    For a second, it seemed like Junko was at a loss for words, able to comprehend but unable to respond to what he said. Finally, she found her words, although the tentative nature laced in her speech told Makoto more than enough. “Hm...Why not take a break? You shouldn’t have to be their saving grace all the time.” Makoto took another bite of his steak in thought.

  
    “Well, I don’t want to let them down. They’re always my saving grace, so I should be there for them, you know? Like, I know I saved their lives a few times, but without them I wouldn’t be here right now. We look out for each other, is I guess what I’m trying to say.” Junko’s computerized eyes still managed to hold emotion, and at the moment they were filled with a more than a little curiosity.

  
    “Oh? But they’re only capable of keeping you alive, really. You’re capable of changing the world. They’re like the bodyguards others look down upon.” Swallowing, Makoto rebutted the claim. “No, I don’t think so. They’re more than bodyguards, each in their own right. They’re people, and they’re capable of amazing things on their own, but because of how much I’ve done I guess people just...assume they’re inferior. Like how Byakuya is with most people.”

  
    An exasperated sigh came from the slightly staticky speakers as Junko hit her figurative head on the table a little too hard. Makoto looked at her with a surprised expression, her hopeless yet not crazed face making him realize what drew him to her in the first place. “Ugh, I just don’t get IT. It’s BOTHERING ME. TOO MUCH.” As though ranting to herself, she looked up as the talked.

  
    “How? How do you stay so hopeful? How do you trust and love those who do nothing but hinder you? Why do you do that? What could possibly lead you to such a conclusion? Those kinds of people abandon you when you’re useless to them, and when you’re at your worst. Who can love such people?” Pursing his lips, Makoto looked down to his food, as if asking it for a response. He managed to come up with one on his own, fortunately enough.

  
    “I...They’re not hindrances. They’re the reason I can stay hopeful, and they won’t abandon me at my worst, or when I’m useless. It’s not that I’ve been useful enough that I get to tag along or anything like that, it’s more like...we’re friends. Friends stick together, because everyone needs someone to latch onto, and to pour their heart out into, but sometimes a lover can’t do that.”

  
    “I mean, with a lover, you’re worried about whether they’ll still love you, and revealing some of those dark secrets are really hard sometimes. That’s why we have friends, I think. Not just so we can dump things on them, but also so we can help them, and we feel good about it. It gives us purpose. And maybe that’s kind of selfish, but no one’s completely selfless. There’s always an ulterior motive whether we realize or not.”

  
    When he looked back up, Junko was staring straight at him with pure surprise she was unable to mask, lips open in a slight “o” shape and cheeks dusted with pink. A shy smile from the brunette earned him a full smile and blush from Junko as she replied. “Makoto, I just fell in love with you all over again, and for a completely different reason, so let me just say...”

  
    “I love you.”

  
    A pause, and then a smile.

  
    “I love you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more info: http://eve6262.tumblr.com/


	4. Kiibo and Goki

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Junko likes robots.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fandom : DR  
> Ship : Makoto/Junko  
> For : Pegasister60

“I’m like 75% sure this won’t explode on us.”

“Seventy-five? As in, three quarters? As in, there’s a TWENTY-FIVE PERCENT CHANCE WE COULD DIE?!” 

A giggle sounded out in response, as well as a sigh from the other party. In front of the two stood a recolored mascot for Junko’s attempt at “world un-domination,” as she’d so aptly named it right before a fit of giggling. “Hmm...Yep! We could always get hit by an asteroid, or Future Foundation could try and shoot the bomb part, or we could-”

“Without the ridiculous scenarios, please.”

“Hehe-okay, okay. 97.5%. Precisely.”

“Much better.”

The brunette breathed out a sigh he hadn’t even know he’d been holding. Looking to the other, he took a quick second to admire her current vessel, just in case they did die. A “freelance” inventor found in the wasteland had offered her new body in exchange for peace and quiet in her area and, seeing just how much a problem wasteland that part of the former US was, they agreed. Junko now stared back at him with familiar fair skin, happy blue eyes, and lips formed in an overjoyed smile.

“And...G! O! GO!”

The sound of whirring filled the air as the robot stirred to life. The fluffy rabbit not unlike Monomi moved its arms around per Junko’s remote, then bounced twice. It reminded Makoto of a much nicer Monokuma; thankfully, being a cuddly version of the evil bear was its intended purpose, and it was therefore perfect. “Well? How does little Goki look?” He looked at her with raised eyebrows and a half glare.

“Goki?”

“It’s the Americanized version of one of the many words in our language that can mean hopeful.”

Reporter Junko, as he liked to call her, was back, and reporting on the subject. Rolling his eyes, he countered the idea. “Why not just hope?” Smiling and holding out a finger, she pressed a button on the controller. “That’s because THIS is hope!” The sound of whirring once again filled the air, however, this time it was from a different machine.

From behind the corner came a metal suited person, it almost seemed. Metal grooves covered his entire body and made a protective suit around his personage, while white hair designed not unlike Makoto’s covered his synthetic head. His eyes were blue and full of life, somehow. “Meet Kiibo!”

For a moment, all Makoto could do was stare. Sentences formed and fell apart again in his head, as though his mind couldn’t handle remembering an entire sentence. He finally found words once again and spoke. “Junko, this...is amazing. Astounding. Adjectives I don’t even know exist.” Smiling slyly, Junko held out the clipboard that always seemed to come out of nowhere once again. “I can look them up for you, if you would like.”

“If you really need to find adjectives, ask Toko.”

“Point taken.”

For a moment, they both stood there. Then, finally, Junko shoved the controller into her bag. “Well, we should get going. It’s pretty late, and you wouldn’t want to miss dinner~!” Almost limply, Makoto followed as she led him back to Future Foundation, where they were berated for being late to the meal, and generally being Junko. Makoto told everyone about how well things were going, while Junko happily chatted without food, the robot body she’d obtained running off electricity generated within rather than food.

Finally, when they retired to their rooms, Makoto said one last thing to the sleeping figure of Junko on the couch before going to sleep.

“I… I never knew before, but you’re really amazing. Maybe, just maybe… No, surely if someone can give you a second chance, you can be better than all of Future Foundation, all on your own.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Goki" is b/c google translate doesn't give you romaji for some reason  
> Well it does sometimes but other times it doesn't
> 
> also yes that is Kiibo from DRV3 except I don't know his character because I'm waiting for the English release so I can watch people play it
> 
> For more info: http://eve6262.tumblr.com/


	5. Reminisce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Junko misses him in the most human way possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fandom : DR  
> Ship : Makoto/Junko  
> For : Pegasister60

Strawberry blonde pigtails flew in the wind of a previously and aptly named “Windy City,” the rubble around their bearer setting the mood more than she wished was true. Narrowed eyes looked down upon half destroyed buildings, of whom had historical forms in conditions almost unfit to live in. She could, in her mind’s eye, see small black children roaming the streets, acting as though they owned the world, when in truth they owned next to nothing. Playful smiles as well as gang shootouts played at the same time in her head, but all with a childlike innocence not usually found in death.

She’d heard the people there were almost like family, but the few she’d come across more than astounded her. Completely different parts of the city, and from rival gangs, no less; they were rivals in the gang world, but played basketball every Thursday in this dilapidated ruins. She left them alone, for now. There was no point in advancing the inevitable by her own hand; if they wanted to, she was not against their suicide, but it would not be to her hand.

It was not, however, those children that had her sitting atop one of the few remaining tall buildings, her legs crossed and over the edge. On the phone she stared so intently at rested a single picture, taken before in a crazed moment of genius but now only filled with depression. The dead body of Makoto Naegi; more aptly, the decapitated head of one Makoto Naegi, the former Ultimate Lucky Student. Or, she reasoned, more accurately the Ultimate Unlucky Student, with just how much his luck seemed to hate him.

Those kids and their happy faces, knowing that later they may be ordered to shoot at each other, had reminded her of the brunette. The way he could perhaps not happily, but hopefully push forward even when his friends were dying right in front of him was reminiscent of the small group; the way everyone respected and even toyed with each other could produce a memory so vivid from her memory it was though it was a few minutes ago, and not an entire week. The time she’d taken his head and brought it with her, only to realize it would rot faster and placed it in an ice cold cooler.

“Makoto…” Her quiet words were heard by no one; neither was the single tear that plopped down onto the stone cold concrete. It seemed to look back at her, as everything in this newfound world of hers did, with a sense of disappointment. She could deal with hate with violence, deal with love with annoyance; it was the feeling of disappointment that truly made her break down and cry. All throughout her life, she was the best of the best; something as cruel as disappointment hit a little too close to home.

She cradled the severed head in her arms as the glossy tears fell, makeup clouding each drop. Each splattered onto the pavement, painting a pale scene of agony and regret as she cried her eyes out. And when she finally decided that it was enough, and that she could no longer dwell there, she didn’t even think to bother to clean the small area up; instead, she left it, not caring what others thought. She was human, in the end; no matter what she went through, there was always a need to break down under the pressure and cry like she’d never cried before that she’d never allowed through.

“Makoto...thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's 4 am now
> 
> For more info: http://eve6262.tumblr.com/


	6. Kyoko Kirigiri Contemplates Drugs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coping mechanisms are more than just that to some.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fandom : DR  
> Ship : Makoto/Kyoko  
> For : Pegasister60

For the first time in her life, Kyoko Kirigiri had seriously considered drugs as a way out.

In front of her was the choice. The peaceful, natural drug with arguably less consequences than a majority of illegal drugs sat to her right; to her left was a small switchblade that could easily be hidden with a moment’s notice, its sheath custom designed to look like a lighter. The option to back out of this decision and abandon it all was no longer viable; it was pain or calmness. On one hand, she would able to function as branch leader much better under the pain of a few cuts on her thigh. On the flipside, however, the drugs were most certainly less harmful to her body, which is why she had chosen that specific drug.

Just as she took a sharp inhale and reached for the knife, the door clicked open. Surprised she hadn’t heard the doorbell ring before the door to her bedroom, she whipped around to see a stunned Makoto. The surprise in his eyes, not unlike that of a deer caught in headlights, made the reality of the situation start to sink in. “K-Kyoko?” The brunette looked to her and saw the pure depression in her expression; without a word, he sat down on the bed and motioned for her to join. Leaving the blade she’d chosen behind, she did.

It took less than a second of eye contact for the lavender-haired girl to start bawling, crying her eyes out in a way she’d never done in her life; rather, in a way that she’d never been allowed before. It felt strangely wrong, in the presence of someone so strong he’d taken down Junko Enoshima when she, the esteemed Kyoko Kirigiri, a detective of pure steel, had their doubts about the whole situation. Yet, at the same time, the way he held her head and back as she wailed into his uniform seemed strangely comforting.

“Do...Do you want to talk about it?”

Nodding, it took a few more moments for the words to surface from beneath that bubble she called her personal space as an excuse.

“I...There’s so much everyone wants, and I have to make sure everyone’s happy, and everyone wants me to be someone I’m not, someone I put on for the metaphorical cameras that turned out to be literal...”

She burst into tears once again.

“Don’t worry. I know it’s hard, but you’re the only one who can do it. You can get through it.”

She looked up, eyes filled with hope and tears.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

He looked down with confidence, and with drive, and for the first time Kyoko thought that perhaps she didn’t have to be a shell of a person, as long as she was inspiring.

She burst into tears again, and he waited for her.

Finally she stopped and sat up by herself, her hands and support shaky.

“Makoto...Thank you.”

“No, thank you.”

“For what?”

“For trusting me.”

Makoto left not too long after, but not before making sure Kyoko was set to sleep peacefully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yay I made it to the makyoko fics  
> there are two of these including this one  
> also I wrote all these before posting that's why they're so close together
> 
> For more info: http://eve6262.tumblr.com/


	7. Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kyoko can't sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fandom : DR  
> Ship : Makoto/Kyoko  
> For : Pegasister60

“K...Kyoko? Is that you?”

A silhouette of long, lavender hair whipped to face him, its expression only visible from the soft light coming from the computer. The clicking of a keyboard stopped as abruptly as it had started, and it was clear Kyoko herself was surprised. “Ah. Did I wake you?” Sitting up and shaking his head, the brunette tried to gather his thoughts as he replied.

“No, it’s okay…” Peering over to the clock to his right, his eyes slightly widened at the realization that it was 3:30 AM in the morning. “Actually, it’s not. Kyoko, go to bed.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible.”

“Why?”

“I have insomnia.”

It was a simple statement, and one he should have been able to register, but his sleep-addled brain that was not meant to wake at such late, or perhaps early, hours of night, or day depending on what one might think. Instead, he decided that, while she couldn’t sleep, she could at least rest.

“I don’t care. Come here and cuddle.”

Kyoko sighed and picked up the laptop. “I’ll move to the living room.”

“Kyoko. No. Close the laptop and cuddle.”

Knowing Makoto was more insistent than Toko when she was claiming anything about her self-worth, she bit the inside of her mouth, thinking. While cuddling with Makoto would be unproductive, it would certainly be relaxing, perhaps even a bit refreshing to lay in a bit for a bit, even if she couldn’t sleep. Just the act of laying in a bed or on a couch in itself was relaxing; perhaps it was not sleep, but it was close.

Closing the laptop, she walked over to the bed and tentatively lifted the covers, as though unsure of herself. Whether luckily or unluckily, she was pulled in by Makoto, who immediately hugged her as though his life depended on it. While at first this was uncomfortable, she quickly grew used to it; she never realized it until her dreaming ended and she awoke in the morning, but this was the first time in perhaps her entire life when she’d been able to sleep.

 

\--

 

Makoto awoke to sunshine and calm breathing from above, forcing him to peer up. The relaxed, smiling form of one Kyoko Kirigiri, hair shining in the sunlight at just the right angle to give it a heavenly glow, stunned him into silence. Soon enough, he managed to move himself from his grasp on her and up, where he could be found sleepily admiring her form until the moment she woke up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Sleep"  
> can you tell im tired


	8. Rhythm Thief - Fake Smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> okay SO  
> I got another 5 commissions by Pegasister60  
> 1 Rhythm Thief, 5 anything Negg (the totally official abbreviation for Naegi, because he needed one)
> 
> This is the Rhythm Thief one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this font is so big (the one I have it in on the doc) and I'm so confused as to how long this is b/c the font is weird

Bright lights shone off of priceless paintings and relics scattered about the room in an order only the one that placed them there could see, and seeing as their current arrangement was not currently an issue, it was more than likely they were almost haphazardly placed around the room in random places so as to give the illusion of grandeur. He was nothing more than a “borrowing” thief; he was but a criminal that repented for his crimes in the most sincere way possible, and would not commit crimes were it not for his father.

_ Father. _

Even thinking the word was, at this point, painful. Each syllable was like a separate stab into his chest; each influx of a voice that suggested it or an offhand comment somewhere felt as though they drowned him in sulfur. How ironic, then, that he sat with his legs pulled up to his chest, his eyes leaking of the liquid his body wished would stay inside. He didn’t care; if he died at that exact moment in that exact way, it would arguably be the ideal way to end.

_ End. _

The thought of an “end” coming soon was more and more prevalent in his mind; each time his jumps off a rooftop got more dangerous, he would stare at the ground drawing incomprehensible patterns with his fingers for even longer, pondering if he should make it look like an accident. He still hadn’t decided, and didn’t wish to; still, he figured he should find a way he liked soon, or else the two girls would catch on, especially Marie.

_ Marie. _

Marie was, in essence, the sole reason he had not yet left off a London rooftop and plummeted to his death, returning everything he’d stolen up to that point and a single letter explaining his death. She was the light of his life, but also the reason he had a hard time deciding during tough times; Marie was the reason he could not simply jump while leaving a note, yet was also the reason he knew faking an accident would be impossible.

_ Impossible. _

Everything in his life at that moment seemed to spiral down into that one word. Impossible was trying to find his father once again; impossible was trying to savor that last word Marie or Charlotte would utter before they helped him break into the Louvre once again for more clues. Everything that aligned with his life always seemed to end in such a feeling of hopelessness.

_ Hopelessness. _

__ Hopelessness seemed to be the one feeling that was consistent recently. Every single action performed by any party, every single word uttered by any pair of lips, even the quiet, sorrowful “woeuf?” that came from the small dog he called his own seemed to evoke a sense of hopelessness, as though this was a cycle too vicious to escape. Such a future could never be so bright.

_ Bright. _

The bright lights once again came to his attention, their dazzling beauty always a stunning sight in the otherwise dark basement. Fondue leapt into his lap, having crawled through the secret passageway, and gave a quiet whimper that sounded almost like a cat. Smiling something with more fake qualities than a cheap plastic flower, he spoke through a filter that changed his words but not his meaning.

“It’s okay, Fondue. I’ll be fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more info: http://eve6262.tumblr.com/


	9. Danganronpa - Imprisoned Dolls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mastermind!Negg is fun to write

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so like  
> there are these powdered energy drinks in my room  
> but because we don't have a water bottle I could use readily available (everyone drinks from cups b/c we're weird)  
> and because children aren't supposed to have it and I assume that means 13 year olds  
> so like  
> I'm just taking a little in powder form every now and again  
> help I'm going nuts

A strangely erratic brunette swung the door to his current most loved project closed as he entered the room, its handle closing with a soft click. He hummed a quiet tune as he approached a figure in the middle of the room. Strawberry blonde pigtails attached themselves to a figure still shrouded in the darkness of the room.

“Sorry I took so long, dear.” He smiled, approaching the figure. It said nothing in response, only staring at him. He chuckled as he came closer, discreetly moving the pin on a record player designed to look as old-fashioned as the rest of the room while he walked. He hugged the body, and yet still it made no move to do anything.

“Oh, dear. You don’t need to be so nervous. Everything’s fine!” Smiling, his closed eyes were perhaps a bit reserved for his style. Now conscious of this, he opened his eyes and peered at the figure. It refused to move. He only laughed once again, the sound the only one in the room.

“Come. Let us dance.” At his discreet command the record player started up; although it looked like an old relic, it was in truth a specialized machine able to play tracks smoothly and without interruption or scratches. Smiling, he took the figure in his arms and started to dance with it; soon enough, he was lost in both the music and the figure in his arms.

“Never leave me.” The figure did not respond as the two twirled and waltzed through the old-fashioned room; seeing as there was little to look at he hadn’t quite looked at their surroundings in a while, he opted to do a little gazing at the figurative roses as they waltzed.

A wallpaper whose pattern was a relic from the past in itself coated the walls with utmost care, not a single speck or a centimeter off pattern. The room had no windows, but if it had Makoto suspected he would have coated them in thick red curtains. The specialized gramophone sat on a wavy wooden table next to the entrance; next to it was a small dining table for when he wished for a meal with the figure he now danced with.

The music slowed as his mind picked up speed. He whispered sweet nothings into the figure’s ear as he danced with her, her expression remaining the same. Finally, when the music slowed to a final halt, he slowed their dance, although at a slowed pace compared to the music. He let a loose hand reach up to stroke the figure’s cheek as he smiled, his eyes coated in a hazy filter.

“You won’t leave me, right, Junko?”

The seams on the hands of the stuffed doll seemed to agree, seeing as they were forever and always sewn to his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to mention  
> WebMD diagnosed me with schizophrenia
> 
> wow this is really short holy fuck


	10. Danganronpa - Everyone Loes Naegi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone Loves Negg

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know what the fuck I Love Lucy or whatever the fuck it was is about why am I referencing this I wasn't even born when it ended

It was, he figured, the little things in life that told you who people really were. Maybe it contradicted who they said they were, or what their larger-than-life decisions said they were like, but it was most definitely what defined a person. Makoto could, at this point, tell easily; from the little things everyone did, their personalities were clearer than the crystal that coated them more than half the time.

Asahina seemed clear, but on the inside she was almost even kinder than her usual self let on. Things like dropping off a bagel or an extra-sugary coffee on her way out from an unusually long shift or always going the extra mile to complete any paperwork she was assigned, no matter how much she complained, told Makoto more than he needed to know. It was, in a sense, more revealing than becoming a couple.

Kyoko always seemed to be an emotionless, stone-cold wall, yet from what Makoto could tell, she was almost as compassionate as Aoi. Her occasional drops of a single extra sugar cube in his coffee or a small slice of cake on random occasions of peace screamed a sweet compassion barely anyone else ever showed; her dedication to any task he deemed necessary to the rebuilding of the world and her diligence in giving him a proper voice at meetings spoke for her louder than the act of going into the trash chute to save him ever could.

Toko liked to seem distant and a constant source of hatred to all, including herself, but even she showed obvious compassion. Why she covered it up, and how her fascination with Byakuya could do anything but rule out her snippets of uplifting stories she would send him at random intervals and the characters she would give good lives that were obviously meant to represent him was still an enigma, but he was not the one, he figured, fit to solve that puzzle.

Byakuya would often invite him to tea after meetings with the excuse of discussing its contents, but would always sneak some extra sweetener into Makoto’s cup due to his dislike for its usually somewhat different taste to the coffee with two sugars he was so used to; other things like not bothering to talk down to him on short moment’s notice or when he was preoccupied made him easier to read than one of the books he was so fond of reading.

Hagakure, out of everyone, was an open book both with and without looking at his more inconsequential actions; his gifts of random value and occasion showed compassion and trust, while his jokes about paying for said gifts showed his sense of humor. Amazingly, no part of him conflicted; Makoto figured that, the less intelligent one was, the less of an enigma their personality became.

Sighing, he relaxed in the somewhat comforting office chair. A quiet laugh could be heard it anyone had been there to heard it; the absurdity of what he had just thought about finally hit him. He started on the final paper of the small stack of paperwork Kyoko assigned him and only spoke once before he would leave his office.

“I sound like what Toko probably thinks about.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I'm gonna throw up
> 
> also this is the last really short one I think I swear


	11. Danganronpa - Morning Times

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Genderbend!Negg, but no one else is genderbent because they're not get over it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why are both the genderbend ones the longest

    Sounds of rushing water could be heard from the bathroom as Makoto showered, her humming barely audible above it. Smooth, ever so slightly tan skin was lathered in soap suds soon to be washed away as she worked, their concealing nature nullified in seconds due to the cascading liquid coming from the showerhead. The click of a bottle was so quiet the brunette almost wondered if she had opened it properly; satisfied with a quick glance, she poured the substance onto her hands.

    Her shoulder-length hair was easy to work the specialized soap into, and though it was quick, she still frowned at how tired her arms were after working on her hair for so long. Even after rubbing the soap into it she still had to make sure all of it was washed away; to her, it was an annoying pain brought on by the nature of showers that could not be avoided, and as such she continued to give her arms no rest until she was satisfied.

    Humming still, she looked herself over once and, satisfied with the shower, turned off the water, although did not quit her musical venture even as she stepped out of the bathtub for a towel. She grabbed the widest one on the right; it barely covered both her breasts and hips, her sister and her having gotten the same genes that made for a bit large of a bust. Sighing at the lack of coverage, she quietly moved to the sink to quickly brush her teeth before leaving for a set of clothing.

    Stretching as she left the bathroom, she almost pushed the towel out of place as she yawned, having to shove it up with her left hand as her right covered her mouth out of reflex. She quickly made her way to the bedroom, where she exchanged the small towel for a bathrobe that Asahina had gotten her for a birthday gift once. She was eternally grateful; Toko just seemed to envy the both of them more.

    She once remembered having an argument over whether having a larger bust was an inconvenience or a blessing. After a while of pointless bickering, Toko finally managed to use her amazing wit and a bit of a writer’s vocabulary to win the argument, although even now Makoto wasn’t sure whether she won because of charm or because she legitimately had a point. She figured it was both and stopped dwelling on it after Kyoko berated them both.

    Having slipped into the comfortable bathrobe, Makoto settled into the red velvet chair AI Junko had made her, the cushions immediately conforming to her form without resistance. Comfortable on the seat and not thinking too hard about things, she curled her legs up onto the large piece of furniture; also without thinking, she let her eyes close with the comfort the surroundings bestowed.

    Within a few seconds, she’d fallen asleep, her clothing still on the bed to her left.

 

\--

 

Toko gave an annoyed sigh as she entered the room. “Makoto!” Knowing the girl was a bit of a dunce when it came to waking up, she tried not to yell too loudly; she was confident she would be heard throughout the apartment-like home they’d each been given, but would not wake the brunette up. Hearing no response from anywhere, she clicked her tongue as always and headed into the bedroom, where she assumed the the hopeful girl would be, as always.

Although she wasn’t normally one for sappy things, the sight of this always made her give a little smile. The small brunette was curled up against the red velvet chair that Junko made for her; although Toko had been somewhat suspicious, her nature as a writer as well as a mental disabled person allowed her to be one of the first (other than Makoto, of course) to trust the strawberry blonde AI.

Already aware of Makoto’s shivering from the slight cold of an early Autumn morning, the orchid-haired girl took a blanket off the bed, being careful not to mess with the clothing set down, and draped it over the poor girl. Giving a quick sigh at the knowledge that Master Byakuya would most likely berate her for this uselessness, she headed out of the door to see Kyoko rather than who she expected. Also instead of the annoyed glare she expected, a knowing gaze met her eyes for less than a second.

“Asleep?”

“Yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why am I still typing in this I have nothing to say


	12. Danganronpa - The Trio

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> honestly have no fucking clue where I was going with this  
> also Genderbend!Literally Everyone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm tired(???????)

A distinctly feminine yawn sounded from the girl’s lips, her eyes droopy from staying at the office for so long. While Kyoko was the leader of the branch, Makoto was the unofficial head of the branch to all in it; Kyoko came up with the details of a plan while the brunette came up with their goals and hyped them up. Still, working anywhere near the top had its drawbacks; even as everyone else left, both her and the boy were left working long after, their only companion being the occasional sound Toko made from his office to get everyone coffee. Even now, Makoto wasn’t sure what kept the writer so late, but it was impossible to get him to change, so neither protested.

The quiet click of the door prompted her to look up to the aforementioned walking into the office, two coffee cups in hand. Wordlessly, he handed her a plain brown cup with a plastic lid undoubtedly filled with coffee, the short orchid hair that could easily be mistaken for a girl’s if one was not careful brushing against his face slightly. Makoto gave a bright smile and nodded, prompting the shaky boy to leave the office just as quietly as he had entered. It was a bit weird still, seeing him in anything other than that ragged school uniform he always wore before finally getting to be a member, but Makoto reminded herself it was only going to become more common as their time together progressed.

The brunette took a quick sip of the caffeinated drink, a small smile coating her lips as she held onto the cup with both hands. She allowed herself but a moment of respite before she rolled her chair back up to the desk and got ready to type. Just as she was about to type out an email to the tech support crew, however, she heard a sneeze that most undoubtedly belonged to Toko, along with a suspicious lack of hyena-like laughter. Confused as to why Syo hadn’t already started laughing maniacally, as he was often prone to do as soon as the two switched and he started to notice his surroundings, she let her hands leave the keyboard and got up from the seat, trying to see out of the small window her office door held.

Confident the lack of lights (Kyoko had them turn off the lights when the three stayed so late to save electricity. Toko accepted, although with a large amount of grumbling neither understood.) would be the main hindrance to her understanding of the occasion, she moved over to the door and cautiously opened it a crack. She could hear and see Kyoko do the same and saw him look back to the brunette; waving, Kyoko nodded and gave a quick wave over to where the sneeze had come from before cautiously putting her hand over the light switch. Makoto took a deep breath as the detective switched on the lights in the hallway, prepared for almost anything.

What she was not prepared for was Syo holding a pair of his finely crafted scissors at what looked absolutely like a ninja one would see in a comic. Kuroi were held at her belt, and her outfit could have been a thick ribbon and Makoto would be none the wiser- even her overly large scarf that covered her mouth and neck were almost comical. Even so, however, she could tell this was no cosplayer or fake; her stance held a refined sense of dishonor and an acute sense for quick movement. Before either of the two could speak, Syo commented on the supposed assassin.

“Before I kill you, I’d love to know your target.” The assassin only turned up their head slightly.

“As though I would ever tell you.” Her voice was somewhat deep, yet still sounded extremely feminine; if Makoto didn’t know better, she almost would have thought she had been trapped in an anime.

“Hm. Guess I have no choice but to let you go then, huh?”

“What?” Clearly, Syo had caught not just Makoto and Kyoko off guard, but also the assassin.

“I mean, I’m practically on probation. If I kill someone and excuse it with ‘they were trying to kill someone,’ they’re gonna ask who. And if I don’t have an answer, well, it’s not like anyone believes me anyways.” 

“Well then, I have my free reign.”

“Yep. Just this once though- I have probable cause afterwards.”

Smirking, the assassin looked at the two having opened their doors. “Well, looks like my target’s ripe for the picking, then.”

In less than a flash the assassin was gone from her post, but not in front of Makoto; her eyes looked over to Kyoko, although it seemed she had nothing to worry about once the scene truly hit her with full force.

A ring of metal against metal had sounded out, and while Makoto had at first assumed that was because the kuroi were so close to each other, it turned out to be Syo’s scissors against said knife. A second pair, meanwhile, had landed itself in the assassin’s chest, causing the sputtered question of “what?” before the giggle that erupted from Syo. 

“Sorry, did I forget? I can’t  _ actually _ let that happen or I’d get fired faster than me killing some random person not with Future Foundation.”

The boy smiled as he forced the scissors out of their fleshy prison, and in seconds the assassin fell, their words failing them as they fell to the ground with a quiet thump. Finally, it seemed, Kyoko had time for words. “So that was why you stayed so late all the time?”

“No, not really. Well, not completely, anyways. Both of us stayed for different reasons. I wanted to make sure this didn’t happen, and Toko has her deadlines.”

“Then couldn’t she just work on it on her laptop?” Makoto, too, had finally found words.

“No, she says the better keyboard is here. Plus, the complex is really noisy, and both of us absolutely hate that.”

The three stood in silence for a while, the only sound one of a flickering light somewhere in the breakroom no one bothered to fix.

“Well, I’m gonna clean this up. Oh, and…”

Kyoko had apparently turned around to shut the lights once more, and so he turned around.

“Mind not telling anyone? I wasn’t actually supposed to kill anyone.”

Both the detective and unlucky girl looked at each other for a moment.

“Of course.”

“Yeah, not a problem.”

With that, Kyoko shut the lights, and the three parted ways. Later, Makoto gave it some thought while in the shower, and, as she spoke to herself, wondered if the others shared the same sentiment.

“...I’m really thankful for you two.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> freddy I'm m e l t i n g


	13. I Am Thou

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castor has something to say to his user.
> 
> (commissioned by a guy named John that doesn't even use this site)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy shit I am like so addicted to music rn  
> like legit I can't focus on shit but like the music  
> the music  
> it's saving m e

It was strange, how it always came back to this. Shinji had simply been resting in the alleyway, attempting his best to make up with Ken when once again, his persona decided it was time enough without something happening.

“H-Huh!?”

Ken saw it before even he did, and in seconds he was lifted up by strong arms unwilling to let him take even the smallest breath of air. He could hear Ken yelling, and the breaking of something else, and even the screams of the other members of SEES, but all were quiet squeaks of a mouse compared to the booming voice that filled his head to the brim.

_ I am thou, yet thou are not I. _

__ Perhaps if this was in front of everyone else Shinji would have denied this to high heaven, and even now he wanted to push it away as far as possible. Yet, in this time and place, he decided the only way was to talk it through. So, instead of yelling something about it being wrong, he questioned it.

“What are you talking about?”

He could hear a faint whisper of the other members confused talking, but opted out of listening in favor of concentrating on the member of his psyche that was currently trying to kill him. I looked him in the eyes as it spoke, reminding the brunette that his neck was currently being squeezed closed by the being.

_ Thou would suppress that which you know is true, and present it as false. _

A small part of him wanted to agree, wanted to admit that he knew exactly what the demon-like creature was talking about, but the rest of him denied the fact that there was anything wrong with him so much he looked up with a defiant glare to the large creature, even when there was no way in hell the much smaller teen could defeat it.

“Like hell there is.”

The reaction to this was worse than he expected. The large hands around his throat tightened; his body seemed to be trying to cough his lungs out, but his throat was not one way, simply closed; his lungs could not get out, neither could air in. He tried to gasp for air one last time as the world started to fade; before it did, he heard a voice once again.

_ We shall talk. _

 

~~~

 

Half-lidded eyes peered past their fleshy covers to see nothing but darkness; yet, this did not feel like an empty place. Groaning, the shifty character sat up and immediately regretted it, his vision swimming even though he could see barely anything but his legs. Somehow, however, a loud, booming voice brought him to a much more awake state.

_ Thou would refuse me. _

The teen didn’t move; he knew where the one that held him captive was.

“Refuse you how?”

_ I am thou. I know everything about thou. _

“Really? ‘Cause someone like me sure as hell seems stuffy.”

It was meant as a cruel joke, but the persona seemed to lax a little.

_ Hmph. I suppose I shall then speak a tad bit more like you. Is this better? _

__ “Better than that stuffy ‘thou’ act.”

_ Then we may press on to other matters. _

“The whole I-am-you-but-you-aren’t-me act, huh?”

_ That is not an act….but yes, that is what I am referring to. _

“Don’t act like-”

_ Are you truly sure you should say that without reflection? _

While most of him wanted to ignore this, push it away, let death come, the other part of him protested loudly enough for his survival instinct to take place.

“...”

He wasn’t proud to admit it, but he supposed he always knew what the problem was, even when the Amada woman died.

_ You know. _

“I guess.”

_ Will you then accept it? _

“I…”

It wasn’t something he could just casually say yes to. There were things that would come with this; there would be consequences far greater than almost any of his actions.

_ You need not do anything about it. Simply accepting it is fine with me. _

“If all I need to do is accept it as a part of me, then…”

He never wanted to admit it, but he supposed it was for the best if someone who literally was him was telling him to metaphorically grow a pair.

“Yeah. I….I can accept that.”

_ Then say it. It need not be proudly, nor loudly, but it must be verbal. _

“I...I am in love with my best friend, and have been since the beginning.”

_ In that cast, I am thou, and once again, thou art I. _

__ _ I am the Hierophant Castor. You may wield me once more, master. _

 

~~

 

“Sh-Shinji?”

Once again, the oddly familiar feeling of waking up with half-lidded eyes filled with drowsiness pervaded his senses, although this time with a bit more of an audible reaction from someone. His eyes darted to his left from instinct; in the small chair of a hospital (he assumed, as this point, that Kirijo had covered this up and had brought him to a hospital for the injuries, and covered that up too) room sat Akihiko, his beloved best friend.

“Hey.”

There was no better thing to say. It was the same thing Akihiko had said whenever he’d come back from having gotten beaten up by someone older who’d picked a fight with Shinji while he wasn’t there; a simple “hey.” got both of them to remember old times, yet still able to talk. In a hospital, however, it had another meaning.

“What happened?”

It was always the second question. One person would greet, the other would question, and the first would answer to the best of their abilities.

“I...Castor said I wasn’t being myself.”

“Your persona?”

Shinji chuckled at the notion. It was truly ludicrous; Castor, of all “people,” was the one who finally got him to admit the one thing that he almost blamed on the big lug.

“Yeah. It said...let’s see, ‘I am thou, yet thou are not I.’ “

“What?”

“Yeah...doesn’t make much sense, I guess.”

“Huh.”

Akihiko attempted to mull over his best friend’s problems, apparently already having been satiated by both doctors and Shinji’s own uncaring performance that he was fine. Shinji himself, meanwhile, also mulled over the fact that he’d admitted to Castor.

“What was the thing you weren’t yourself about?”

“That...I can’t tell you.”

“Really? Can’t tell your lifelong best friend?”

“Hey, everyone keeps secrets.

“Alright, guess I’ll just have to try my hardest to get it out of you, then.”

While a usual serious, slightly shifty look stayed on Shinji’s face, the inner him was smirking at the irony. In his mind, he could hear Castor chirp a stupid remark he completely utterly agreed with this time, both of them laughing about it while real world Shinji decided to take a nap due to the dull pain of his neck.

_ I’m sure he won’t have to try too hard. You already will be. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey look I'm not dead just like  
> really tired
> 
> also I started replacing "crap" with "carp" and somehow my mind stared turning it into "non-corporeal tunnels" help
> 
> oh and sorry if this is somewhat cringe I haven't looked at much P3 stuff in a long time I barely remember how they talk haha


	14. Rick / Morty - The Power of a Semicolon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I finished R&M in two days and I'm obsessed send help  
> But yeah also little headcanon I made out of nowhere  
> Morty is like really fucking sensitive to ASMR shit  
> Possibly has synesthesia (like me) as well

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For: John (the guy who requested the P3 fic)

    Small raindrops pattered against the glass window with a comforting sound, as though one could be lulled into a beautifully calming drowsiness simply by listening. The hurried scratch of a pencil on paper accompanied it in creating ambient noise, yet somehow joined it in its oddly hypnotic nature.

    A sigh that did not join the other two escaped the poor boy’s mouth, his eyes droopy from a lack of sleep. He was sure he would not get a chance to turn in his English, as it was his last period and recently his grandfather had been sure to pull him out of school every single day in third period, however, the sense of duty he had toward the paper did not wane. Besides, Summer could turn it in for him as she always did.

    However, this was a puzzle. Seeing as he had not attended the class, he had to make due with his wit, and via a strange system he attributed to the eccentric mad scientist (one half his genes, one half hanging out with him so much), he was generally able to figure out the questions on his own. This one, however, puzzled him to no end.

    Footsteps echoed on the well-maintained wooden steps leading up to his room, though even as the door creaked open ever so softly he did not hear it. A drunken stumbling accompanied a voice, of which managed to finally draw his attention from the piece of paper in front of him.

    “Y-You still awake?” A man with scraggly blue hair and grey skin defined the man well; if that was not enough, a mysteriously clean white lab coat covered a sky blue shirt and brown dress pants, held up by a black leather belt with a fake golden clasp. Black dress shoes made quiet, almost silent noises against the soft carpet, and almost lulled the poor boy into a dull sleep.

    “Man, w-why the hell are y-you even b-b-bothering with this, M-Morty? You should- *burp* -know b-better than this, you, you, you- Oh let me guess, Good G-Guy Morty wants to i-impress his little c-crush, huh? A-Alright, I’ll help you.” A look of pure shock coated Morty’s face as the older man leaned over him, oddly fit and almost young-looking chest a bit too close for comfort (or perhaps quite the opposite).

    “Oh, English, huh? Y-Y’know, out of every s-subject in school, maybe, maybe English i-isn’t so bad, you know? It c-can be pretty fu- *burp*-un.” Such news was a shock to the younger boy, who hadn’t a clue of the drunk man’s slight affection for the fine arts. He had said once, Morty remembered, that modern art was “a fucking p-piece of bullshit,” which he had taken for not liking the arts. Perhaps he was wrong.

    “You know h-how semicolons work?” Morty shook his head, prompting the man to launch into a full-blown explanation on how the punctuation worked. While annoyed with this specific member of his family at the current moment, the boy would never tire of his grandfather, and instead preferred to listen whenever he could to the strangely melodic voice, even if it was punctured with stutters and drunken burps.

    It was ever so strange, how much he noticed about the seemingly sixty-year-old man.

    However, another thing managed to latch itself onto Morty’s consciousness without deciding to let go. As the passionate man kept explaining, the stutters in his voice decreased; the burps stayed at similar intervals, as those were biological needs, however, the occasional repeat of a letter two or three times, or sometimes even the shorter words, started to disappear.

    As this became a focus in his mind, the part of him that loved the rain and the sound of his pencil against the paper started to listen, and love it did. His voice was, if he had to compare it to anything, the chirping of nocturnal birds; the rhythmic cry of an owl had a certain elegance and grace to it, and as did the older man.

    “Alright, now can you give me- *burp*- an example?” Without thinking too much about the response, Morty gave his answer in what seemed like a trance.

    “I love you; you who would throw your life in danger to protect mine; you whose voice is like the melodic cry of an owl in the dead of night; you who would drown your sorrows in a bottle rather than your fists; you who would care for your family even under the surface of an apathetic genius; I am madly in love with you, for you are the kind of strength I cannot muster.”

    It seemed that was the end of his daze, for as soon as he looked up he could feel his cheeks burn up with the flames of embarrassment. Wishing he hadn’t spoken in the slightest, he screwed his eyes shut and attempted to listen to the background of a pattering drizzle against the thin glass, but it was to no avail.

    “Morty...”

    “W-W-What the actual fuck.”

    At first, it seemed, the man who attempted his best to tutor the poor boy had taken his statement as an example in a trance thinking of his crush; it was only the phrase “apathetic genius” that truly allowed the final gear to click into place, letting the entire mechanism churn with thought.

    “I-I-I’m sorry R-Rick, I j-just...I-It’s so w-wrong and I w-w-wish I n-never said it a-a-and you o-obviously d-don’t care b-b-because well you r-really shouldn’t and I-I-I I just-”

    “Yo, M-Morty, just, just calm down, a-all right? You’re f-*burp*-ine, really, Mort, d-don’t worry.”

    The quiet lull of Rick’s voice managed to sooth the inner anxiety of his soul, to some degree, and he let himself get carried away. For a moment, the two stayed as such, both thinking of their words to the other; Morty took his time in creating a viable apology, while Rick thought of the most artistic way to say “I love you too, moron.”

    Of course, as fate would have it, they both started at the same time, and both stopped immediately. Not wanting to say a word more than he had to, the boy in the yellow shirt let Rick go first, and perhaps with a slight hope that his words would be ones of reciprocation and comfort.

    “I know i-it’s fucked up, Mort, y-you don’t have t-to tell m-*burp*-e that, I know w-what’s fucked up, b-but it’s that’s h-how you feel, you k-know, I’m n-not much better, being a t-t-total fucking pedophile I g-guess, I don’t know; whatever, the p-point is, if y-*burp*-ou really feel l-like that, I mean, sure, but you c-can’t act like it was s-some dumb mistake now.”

    “Artistic” was not the word Rick would use to describe the final product, but it was most certainly something better than his first draft.

    “Well g-geez Rick, I dunno, I mean, I-I-That was all j-just something I j-just kinda...Oh geez, I c-can’t really e-excuse that now, c-can I?”

    “Nope.”

    “Well...Yeah.”

    “Alright. Now l-let’s finish this d-dumb homework so y-you can get on with your c-confession or whatever.”

    “R-Rick!”

    “I’m just p-*burp*-laying with ya’, Mort.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more info: http://eve6262.tumblr.com/


	15. [Gravity Falls] Pacifica Gleeful, The Masterful Magician

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hoooo boy this is dark as fuck  
> btw this was a request not a commission  
> REALLY FUCKING IMPORTANT NOTE: I'm lazy and most of this book (hopefully) won't need it so I'm not putting a warning on this thing but this one has some fucking DARK SHIT. I'm talking mentions of rape, knifeplay without consent, shit like that.
> 
> also this was based on the following image's AU, called Gravity Rises: http://nelauk.deviantart.com/art/gravity-rises-mean-kids-525941761

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks a lot Pegs (she fucking requested this because of course she did)  
> now I have this in my portfolio  
> isn't that nice
> 
> holy carp this is long I refuse to go through this and format every single paragraph again so you know sorry but no indents in this shit

“Mabel! Mabel look!” Turning away from the half-stocked shelves, the female of the pair looked to their sibling. His familiar star sweater and happy smile were both half covered by the poster he held. Filled with flashy yet elegant colors, the title more than revealed its subject; “Come see the amazing Pacifica Gleeful!,” with both ends of the text trailing in gold, curling lines. 

“Hey, Dipper, Mabel. What do you have there?” Stanley seemingly appeared behind them, deception and trickery being one of the few things he was good at, and picked the poster from his hand. “...The Gleefuls? Ugh, those damn idiots are at it again. Ignore them. they’re nothing but phonies.”

“But Grunkle Stanley, it’s a magic show! Please?” Dipper begged as Mabel restocked, yet was met with nothing but annoyance. “Dipper, that ‘magic’ is faker than most of my legal papers. Besides, there’s plenty of magic here! Just look at this man-in-the-cabinet.” Slightly jumping in place, Dipper gave an almost comically annoyed face.

“Oh come on! That’s just a robot in a cabinet or something.” Neither twin knew or cared exactly what was going on with that cabinet, but both were generally sure it was not actually a man in a cabinet with a glass front. Although, Mabel decided not long ago that if it was simply a customer who hadn’t bought anything, she wouldn’t be overly surprised.

“I told you already. That’s a real person.” Rolling her eyes, Mabel decided she’d actually take her brother’s side on this for once. Sure, she was usually bored to death during magic shows, but he’d had no luck with finding a boyfriend, and she figured that simply staring at the tent as always would be much more satisfying when it was decorated a rich purple and glittering gold.

“Not even for research on the enemy?” It took the man more than a few moments to decide, to which Mabel could have sworn Robbie gave a slight chuckle at. 

“Alright, I suppose we could go on a research trip. To the car!” His dramatic shout was enough to bring Melody out of her trance sweeping the floor. With a trademark fistpump, she celebrated. “Alright! We’re going to see some magic!” 

Although she secretly hoped Robbie would have been coming, Mabel still was not surprised when their great-uncle tossed the teen the keys with the words, “Keep us open, now!”

 

\--

 

“Welcome, one and all, to the great Pacifica Gleeful’s amazing magic show!” Overwhelming applause overtook the audience, not including the entirely unamused Mabel Pines. She simply stared at the ceiling of the tent, overcome with love for the intricacies woven into such a glittery, yet graceful cloth. This, she decided, was the best magic show she’d ever attended, if solely for the decor.

“I’d love to thank you all for coming to my humble magic show, first of all.” Deciding that a girl with no strange European or Southern accent and hopefully a love for appealing aesthetic would at least look something nice, Mabel turned her annoyed gaze to the stage. Although she was not entirely disappointed as she’d half expected, she was not exactly amazed.

A girl their age stood on stage, which barely surprised Mabel. It was much more impressive to have a child perform pretend magic, since such arts took talent and effort; that much she could understand and respect, although the way they had a tendency to try and do things more dangerously than one should live was a bit off-putting. 

Her dress and fashion itself Mabel could admire; a pretty satin bow rested behind her oddly high bouffant, albeit half covered by said style. The rest of her hair cascaded down to slightly lower than her hips, Mabel estimated; it was always a bit of an estimate with hair lengths due to physics. She wore a black half-cape, with a lavender gem to match; black gloves extended to her upper arm, making it almost look as though the entirety of her upper torso extended into a somewhat lightly colored void. 

The dress itself had a rather simplistic, comparatively, tuxedo-themed midsection, yet extended around her stomach into a bell-shaped skirt. Here, moons scattered each segment (cut like a pie seen from above with pale lavender ribbons), along with stars; to add a bit of flair, the background of each individual “slice,” so to speak, alternated between black and purple. Black stockings met with sleek black boots to form almost seamless black legs; this, Mabel decided, was both the most complicated and the most appealing dress she’d ever seen.

Although, if it were her decision, she would abandon the strange Dorito-esque triangles that dangled both from the bottom of her skirt and her ears. 

“It really means so much to me that all of you would come out here, just for me! Oh, but I can’t take all the credit to myself, of course. It’s my magic that you all want to see, I’m just the extra.” As expected of any well-done act of pretend humility, shouts of encouraging words filled the tent. No one in their bench did so, although she did see Dipper watching with starry eyes in her peripheral vision.

Bored once more, Mabel took to staring at the almost sky-like tent once again, her curiosity satisfied and her brain unchallenged. It truly was entrancing, she decided, this decor. Perhaps what got some people to come back time and time again, if only partly.

“For my first trick...Mind reading!” Mabel rolled her eyes internally; alleged “mind-reading” was always the easiest trick in the book to fake. You simply looked the person over once, or if you were a bit more keen on believability, watch them for the majority of the show, and from that inferred certain things. Only once had she ever seen something that would have been even mildly difficult to ascertain from the person’s actions or general appearance been told, and she later noticed the matching rings on both parties, signifying their likely status of wife and husband.

“Let’s see…” Something Mabel hadn’t particularly anticipated, yet at the same time was generally unsurprised by was the girl sliding herself off the stage to get closer to the audience. While somewhat unexpected, this was not an entirely pointless gesture; jumping down into the crowd showed that she was on their level, so to speak, or at least believed she was, truth or not. It helped on the subconscious level of things.

Suddenly, it made sense why mind reading had been the first act.

“Your favorite color is red!” It was almost embarrassing, seeing her inferences. The man was wowed; whether he realized his entire outfit was dyed different shades of red (which, Mabel noted with annoyance, clashed horribly with the stunningly attractive background of the tent) was entirely debatable. 

Pacifica proceeded to move about the tent, finding random strangers whose interests or hobbies were obvious (“You like to knit” to a woman with an unfinished sweater in her lap; “You have a wonderful husband” to a woman with a wedding ring and perfectly applied and seemingly expensive makeup). It caused Mabel a particular jab in the stomach when Pacifica went over to Dipper and simply stated “Your name is Dipper.” before leaving the boy alone.

“How did she knew?”

“Dipper, you’re wearing a sweater with your name on it.”

“...oh.”

Had this been anyone but her brother, a silent chuckle would have come at this realization. Thankfully, the boy stayed quiet; had he been the one to cause a scene, it would have been a bit too much irony for her to bear in this annoying little tent, albeit aesthetically pleasing.

“Now that we’ve warmed up a bit, let’s get onto what everyone wants to see-Magic!” Her voice was like maple syrup- thick with lies and sweet as sugar; her tongue was generally foreign compared to the people of the town, as was the substance to the US originally. (somewhat, at least- it was generally Canada that made it better, at the very least). 

“Now, everyone’s going to keep a little secret for me. I know, I know, we’re not supposed to do the person-in-a-box trick because it’s dangerous, but trust me, it’ll be fine. Everyone okay with that?” General approval came from the audience, to which Pacifica clapped her hands. “Great. Alright, bring it out, Mom!” 

The box’s wheels squeaked ever so slightly as they moved; this, too, Mabel found, was intentional. Showing things such as this invited the audience to subconsciously register this as more likely to be real- if they kept the mechanisms in tip-top condition, why not oil the wheels? The answer, of course, was to fool the idiots who thought this was a legitimate argument. 

Bored out of her mind, Mabel craned her neck to look over her companions. Dipper seemed excited, although she didn’t quite blame him; Stanley seemed disinterested, and she didn’t blame him, either. It was somewhat surprising to her that Melody would also simply be staring at the tent as she did, and while carefully watching the front and back security to make sure no one noticed, she temporarily sat herself next to the nerdy girl.

“Hey, Melody. Random question.” The girl was somewhat surprised, yet quickly regained her composure. “Yes?”

“Why aren’t you interested in this? I thought you liked magic and stuff.” Melody shrugged.

“It’s all so fake, it’s hard to ignore it. I mean, after tons of digging around ancient caves going on the barest of hints or trying to decipher the mind games Telltale characters like playing, this stuff is as boring as nails. I just like going because the decor is always nice.”

“Oh. Fair enough.” After a few moments of observation and more applause, Mabel quickly ran back to her seat.

Not that Pacifica hadn’t seen that entire encounter and made note of it. Especially with that absolutely delectable boy sitting right next to the spoilsport; how could she not want anything to do with that adorable little smile and those sparkling, almost glistening eyes?

 

\--

 

“That was AMAZING!” Dipper was smiling so widely a largely sarcastic part of Mabel wondered if his face was going to crack. 

“Not really.”

“Meh.”

“Yeah, no.” Were the collective answers, one from each of the other current passengers and driver. Dipper only frowned. “Oh, come on! You were all ‘it’s all fake,’ but you didn’t even watch!”

“Because I didn’t have to, really. They’re all fake, and if they aren’t, they do a good job of making it look like that.” Melody again gave a slightly surprising answer, yet at this point had already explained to Mabel her reasoning for being so uncaring on the subject. 

“Spoil sports…”

If anyone noticed the way that Dipper hung onto Pacifica’s every word as he told the group about the show they “missed,” or the way that Melody seemed to know something everyone else hadn’t a clue of, they said not a word.

 

\--

 

“Mabel! Mabel oh my gosh look1 Look!!” An ecstatic, almost euphoric Dipper bounded up to Mabel, now on counter duty while Robbie stocked the shelves out of boredom. “Yeah?”

“Pacifica invited me on a date! A date! Mable, a date!” This caught the girl by surprise, perhaps more than she’d expect later in the day. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah! Can you cover for me? It’s on my shift after yours. Please?” Although she was not particularly happy with her twin’s choice in women, she had to admit that had Robbie asked her out on a date during her shift, she would say the exact same thing. Sighing, she decided there was no reason to say no- Mabel’s shift was restocking, and the eldest of the room’s current inhabitants was already performing this job, meaning this was nothing but an opportunity for a talk.

“Sure.”

“Thanks! I’ll go get ready then. See you!” 

Before disappearing behind the doorframe completely, the boy poked his head once more. “I’ll tell you everything once I get back!” Mabel didn’t bother a response, as by the time she’d turned back to her brother, he was gone. 

It took her a moment to get settled, a moment that was quickly interrupted by an admittedly relatively high pitched voice for a boy. 

“Don’t worry. That boy’s smart. He’ll be fine.”

“I hope.”

Both took a moment to think of something to say.”

“So, what’s up?”

 

\--

 

“Dipper! I’m so glad you could make it.” Pacifica was dressed in her usual clothing and makeup, yet managed to stay unmobbed by the public due to two almost cartoonishly threatening guards. “Hey, Pacifica!” The boy gave his best smile, causing the girl to smile as well. “Come on! I want to show you a place.” Simply happy he got to spend time with the adorable, the amazing, and the absolutely charming Pacifica Gleeful outside of an oversized tent, the boy practically bounced along the sidewalk as he followed the girl.

As they walked, it was not uncommon to see people give stares or have to restrain their children from coming close. The guards that walked alongside the girl and the girl herself attracted most stares; the boy behind still managed to attracted a few curious looks. For those Pacifica was sure to look; for those Pacifica would give back a look most vile, to those who would dare look badly upon her dearest Dipper.

A tiny voice at the back of her mind told her not to, that this would ruin her publicity were it to surface. Every other aspect of her remembered the way the flesh on that little deer tore to pieces and grinned with anticipation at the thought of performing such a gruesome act upon a person herself, rather than simply observing and drooling.

“Here we are. Alright, Will, John, stay here. I want privacy, make sure it happens, okay boys?” Without a word, the two stood facing the street as Pacifica lead to a path away from the main road, along the sidewalk of which they’d been walking. Before, black heels made a distinct click; on this road they made little more than ever-so-light tracks in the dirt where the earth was practically crushed beneath her heel.

Dipper left no tracks, but rather kicked up Pacifica’s. A small voice in the back of her mind told her to keep note of this; this piece of information she valued, and wholeheartedly committed it to memory as the lovable skipping of her dearest, beloved, happiest Dipper Pines. Or, perhaps she preferred Dipper Gleeful?

Yes, Pacifica Pines seemed an awful name. Dipper Gleeful it was.

“Here we are.” Pacifica had to admit, she had been honest about picking this particular spot. Far away from town and behind a few trees on a barely existent dirt road, the clearing was absolutely breathtaking. At the far edge was a small, shallow creek, bubbling and rushing with excitement the way only a rapid can.

In the center of the clearing was now a red and white checkered blanket. In the center, a vase with flowers, along with a meal fit for a queen. Only something of the utmost quality for her absolute beloved, after all. Nothing less would be even satisfactory, whether it was for a date or simply an everyday meal; she would not allow him to be treated like anything less than royalty. 

“Come on, then! Sit.” Still stunned, Dipper allowed his legs to move without his consent, and the two sat on opposite sides of the blanket. Deciding she would refuse to gorge herself on anything unattractive, she chose a balanced salad and water for her meal. This was not, after all, about the food, but rather both the gesture and the relationship she wished for. 

Would have, she thought. The relationship she would have, not wished for. That made it seem like it was unrequited, and what a ridiculous thought that was. She got what she wanted, for one, and of course, who would turn down the absolutely gorgeous, lovable, incredibly talented Pacifica Gleeful, star of the show?

 

\--

 

“Dipper, are you sure about this?” Although his tales of the date had been intriguing, to say the least, Mabel could not help but feel a large pit of utter regret boil within her mind as her brother nodded enthusiastically. “Of course! She was so nice, how could I say no?”

Perhaps Dipper was a bit too dense to notice it, but his sister saw right through. Expensive gifts and food, yet an annoyed, almost absent attitude when dealing with her bodyguards; a lovable laugh and smile coated thick in lipstick and eyeliner fit for a queen; most suspicious of all, a second date planned out without even having to check the calendar, as well as a meetup location. No part of Mabel’s mind doubted the girl; yet, somehow, she still could not say no.

This time, she found, Pacifica had carefully picked out a time when the male twin would not be working, and therefore would not need cover. Sighing as he left, the girl watched her brother leave the gift shop with a smile on his face and a jingle coming from the door’s bell. She looked back to the shelves and wished on the fake magic pendant she now held that he would be safe, at least for today. 

“Are you sure this isn’t gonna turn out badly?” Melody, now sweeping the floor behind her, commented on the peculiar predicament. Normally, Mabel would take her advice with a grain of salt, knowing the girl’s doubtful experience when interacting with practically anyone; this, however, Melody seemed a bit more keen than with normality.

“I don’t know.” Mabel pursed her lips, her arms and legs moving on autopilot at this point, her mind thinking over dozens of theories and theoretical outcomes.

“Seems shady to me.” Robbie took not a moment to look up from his current magazine, yet Mabel knew the boy was more than a bit smarter than the rest of his brainless family. Melody, however, had been an enigma throughout; the magic show explanation made sense, yet somehow she seemed in on some kind of information neither of the other two employees had a single clue about.

Hoping lady luck would smile upon them, Mabel let herself dive into a conversation about whales and their fascinating habits to beach on land for seemingly no reason as her shift ticked away.

 

\--

 

“Whoa…” Pacifica’s favorite room in their mansion-like house, Dipper found, was filled to the brim with insects pinned to the walls. From decorative butterflies to grasshoppers, anything could be found here, it seemed. Even a few wild animals heads were placed sporadically throughout the room, both triumphant in their hunter’s pride and dreadful in the animal’s paralyzing fear.

“I always love coming here just to look at everything. Wonder what they were like when they were alive, where they went, what adventures they went on.” Pacifica let herself stray toward a butterfly she found particularly bright and quickly read the basics of the nameplate before discreetly covering it from her guest’s view.

“What’s that one?” As expected, the boy quickly padded over to her side, shoes making an almost inaudible noise on the carpet. “One of the Blue Morpho butterfly species.” After a moment of observation, she added, “Its wings aren’t actually blue, you know.”

“Wait, really?”

A slight giggle found its way to the surface. “It has tiny scales on its wings that reflect light, so it looks blue, but it really isn’t.”

Dipper found himself amazed by this. “You’re so smart!”

To this, Pacifica found herself giving a genuine laugh. Certainly a charming boy, yet not the sharpest tool in the shed.

“Would you like to hear about some others?” Dipper nodded enthusiastically for the second time that day, although Pacifica knew nothing of this.

She was too preoccupied with being ever-so-slightly jealous of those dead bugs being able to lay eyes upon her dearest Dipper. They would not, soon, yet she could still not stand the thought of those eyes being filled with jealousy; she would rip them apart at the wing, fight them with fire if it came to that-

Where was she? Monarchs, of course; so common, yet so stunning. Just like her Dipper; soon, however, he would be devoid of the first title.

 

\--

 

“I’m sorry, Pacifica-no, that sounds really sad, too sad...Pacifica, I just feel like- no, too selfish…” Mabel peeked in the doorway, having known her brother was not, in fact, using the washroom for quite some time, and found him pacing in front of the mirror with a suit on; the same one he’d worn to the ball their parents had once had them attend, for better or for worse.

“What’s up?” He looked up from his frantic pacing. “I just...I’m breaking up with Pacifica, I think.”

“Wait, really? Why?”

“It’s just...I love her, I really do, and she’s really nice and smart and just everything, but I...She just gets so...Jealous? I don’t know...Whenever anyone else looks at me, she gives them this really nasty glare, and sometimes I try to find those people later but I can’t and I just...I can’t be in a relationship like that, I think.”

“I just can’t find a way to do it properly.”

“How about I do it?”

“You would?”

“Yeah, sure! You’re going on a date tonight, right?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Go have some fun with her one last time, you know, as a sort of final goodbye. I’ll come pick you up, explain, and everything should be fine!”

“Thank you SO much, Mabel! You’re the best twin sister anyone could ever have.”

“No problem. Now go out there and have your fun, and we’ll deal with this after that’s over.”

“Okay! Oh, and we should be done at around 6, she said. Maybe earlier, maybe later.”

“Five forty-five it is.”

 

-

 

“I wanted to take you somewhere.”

“Really? It’s already so late…”

“It won’t be long. We’ll be back by six.”

“Alright then.”

 

\--

 

“It really is pretty out here, isn’t it?”

“Yeah---MMPH!”

“Take him into the warehouse. I want no witnesses.”

 

\--

 

A blindingly white smile turned a shamefully deep crimson. Knives scattered with blood. A previously beautiful dress stained with sin. Her maniacal laugh as she trailed vile saliva down his collarbone, to his boxers. The force that wracked his body as her eyes widened with twisted glee; his cries for help suffocated in a cloth prison. Eyes wide, staring up at his captive; dress discarded, her frame surrounded by pale moonlight.

Was tonight a blood moon? No, it had been a half moon, hadn’t it? Where had all this red come from? The red that tainted the windows; no, look closely. The red that stained the ceiling and dripped down below; that was not his, it was old. What was all that on her person? That; that was his, that was most certainly the dizziness he felt, the embarrassment, the shame, the absolute paralyzing terror that wracked his bones ‘till nothing was left.

Were they broken? Surely not all, yet there was nothing in the place of an arm; had that been taken? No; he could feel it against his leg; the bone was broken yet it still laid in place, perhaps one day awaiting a recovery. In an instant, everything became black but for a second; was that his vision? No, that was a drop of blood traveling down his face; had he been cut? Yes, he could recall; the insanity in her eyes as she drew the knife across his face, his whimpers to please, please, anything, just please Pacifica, stop. Stop this; weren’t you nice at one point?

Was that all a ruse? A hoax, a facade, a little game a liars? Had he been naught but a fool to take your blood-stained hand and find himself in the spider’s nest? Yes, yes he had; hadn’t Mabel warned him? Hadn’t Melody spoken something of a betrayal being worse than a fate of death, once when he left? Hadn’t Robbie spoken out; Stanley grown worried when told the tale of their insect advent?

Yes, told the blood-coated girl in front of him, mercilessly torturing a live man to death in front of him, letting the warm blood spill onto his face and his body; letting the warmth soak into his skin; making sure that his body enjoyed this if she had to force it upon him herself.

No, this was no girl. This was Pacifica Gleeful, the twisted, the sociopathic, the cunning, the foxy. This was no magician’s act; this was the heart of a person living only moments before being carefully fed into his unwilling jaw.

 

\--

 

It was six thirty, and Dipper still hadn’t shown up. Melody finally spoke out. “We need to find him.”

“We do.”

“Where do we start?”

“...”

“Really? Neither of you had a plan?...We follow the bodyguard’s tracks, obviously.”

“Robbie, you have never been a greater help than right now, and I mean that in a good way.”

 

\--

`

“It smells awful…”

“It smells like a corpse.”

“All the bad guys are killers, you know. Just saying.”

“Alright. Everyone ready?”

“Ready.”

“All enemies eliminated.”

“Three...Two...One...GO!”

The wood burst upon with the weight of a woman, a teen, and one slightly younger than such pushing upon it with such force. Dipper thought he felt a chip or two land in the suit that now covered him once more, seeing that Pacifica “had gotten bored of playing with milk.” 

The man she was torturing now, her third victim on the night, whimpered in pain. She stabbed him the heart, taking care to pull out the ragged knife as she faced the intruders. “Now, how did I know you would find your way here, Mabel Pines? Here for dear old Dipper, are we?”

“Give it up, Pacifica. We already took care of your guards.” Neither were under the illusion the guards were dead; they were simply tied up in the woods with their guns tied to trees.

“Oh really? You think I’m handing him over that easy?” Her companions were flung to the wall; only one of them had realized something crucial about this girl that made her so much worse than what they’d assumed, and it was something Melody had found out the moment she looked.

That gem was no normal little glittery stone. No, it shone too much in the dark for that; it twinkled a bit too much during her magic acts for that; it held a bit too much mystique for that. 

“Wha-” A gleeful smile coated Pacifica’s face. She flicked her knife up as she spoke, splattering the both of them with blood; Mabel with more to add to her already numerous cuts and bruises from fighting the guards, and the girl’s own motley collection of bloods from both victims and her dearest.

“Oh, I’m not giving him up. He’s just too much fun to play with.”

“Oh, and have I mentioned he looks absolutely adorable with blood dripping down his face?

A fist met with a face; two people were dropped to the ground in momentary surprise; the fight now extended, with the numerous objects around the room flung at them at every turn, in every way; yet somehow, Melody had an idea.

Shards of glass simply strewn about on the floor were the perfect pieces to use in the plan.

Without thinking, the woman lunged at the girl; yet, rather than her neck or chest, she sliced cleanly through her cape. The gem went flying, yet the same could not be said about her assault on Robbie; the objects fell like boulders.

“You MONSTER!” Before the magician could lay a hand on her beloved gem, Mabel caught it. At her went flying a palette previously aimed at Robbie; the moment she lay on the ground, batter and bruised, unable to make a sound, the three rushed over to Dipper.

“Dipper? Dipper, can you hear me? Dipper?” An almost strangled voice came out as less than a whisper, yet it arrived nonetheless. “Ma...bel?...”

“Dipper!”

“Come on, we have to get him in the hospital!

 

\--

 

“Will he live?”

“At this stage? Yes.”

 

\--

 

“I think Mom and Dad are probably going to send us home…”

“Not if we don’t tell them.”

“Grunkle Stanley!”

“The Gleefuls got charged. One of their fines was to pay for Dipper’s medical bills.”

 

\--

 

“I’m so glad you’re back.”

“Mabel...I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Everything’s all right now.”

 

\--

 

Behind prison bars, it was all Pacifica could do to rally an army behind her truest love, the one who would forever inhabit her heart and being wholly and completely.

Bill Cipher, Dream Demon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pegasister60 requested this IT IS NOT MY FAULT


End file.
